Character
by grandSolovey
Summary: Surviving in the ghetto takes a certain something. Thriving and flourishing there, like a certain someone does, takes a certain something greater.


From the first day he started swinging his weight around on the streets, Fortis had an air of mystery about him. The rest of his name, where he came from and how, where he could afford his suits, what the hell he was doing in a shithole like Dayton — nobody knew any of these things, and anyone who claimed to was either lying or a victim of wishful thinking. He was young when he first made his name known, younger than most who assert any claim over criminal offices, young enough that his clock hadn't even kicked off yet. But he was always just violent enough, just crazy enough, just savvy enough to get what he wanted, and all of that together made him more than enough of a character to get what he wanted with little challenge and no questions asked.

Raymond, on the other hand, was something of the opposite. Anyone who'd lived in Dayton for any length of time could read him like a book: always on the streets for a lack of something worth going home to, ready to get into trouble and just as ready to snake out of it for a lack of anything better to do, and always ready with more than just a snappy comeback to whoever felt like saying something about it. None of these made him unique among the other kids his age; if anything, they did damn near the opposite.

What did make him unique, even if only in the slightest way, was his skill of observation — or, to put it another way, his ability to see through the screen of bullshit Fortis had layered around himself. The man's accent was never quite the same from one day to the next. He'd wear the same suit for days in a row, until it ripped or frayed or got too dingy. He'd talk a big game but back down at the first show of any real threat, at least until he had a clear shot to knife that threat right in the back. It didn't take much time or wits or influence to hold domain over the already poor and downtrodden citizens of Dayton, but anything beyond that would be too much for him to handle, at least not without getting his teeth kicked in a time or two.

In a way, he was just as trapped in the time zone as anyone else was. But one difference marked him apart from just anyone else: rather than lamenting over his lot, he reveled in it, and that was what allowed him to triumph over anyone else who wanted what he'd already won.

The fact that he could see through his bullshit marked Ray apart in another way, as it meant he wasn't willing to take any of it either — at least not as much as could safely be done, anyway. As it turned out, there was no surer way of attracting Fortis's attention.

Of course, it took more than that to hold his attention. As long as it kept him on the safe side of things, Raymond wasn't exactly unwilling to oblige, though _safety_ was hardly his only motivation.

Fortis was an opportunistic sort, so Ray quickly got used to being rutted against the walls of darkened alleys or unoccupied back rooms. Not that he'd ever have cause to complain, not even when Fortis played the game a bit more dangerously than usual.

Once Fortis had broken a kiss by pressing a straight razor to the side of Ray's face. He didn't think to question why he was doing it, or why he even had it on him. This was Fortis, after all.

"You trust me, yeah?"

His accent was getting steadier. Give him a few decades and maybe no one would know any better; not that many people knew any better now, anyway. But that could only be true because a few decades from now, Ray knew Fortis would be in exactly the same position, doing exactly the same business he was doing now. He couldn't be so sure when it came to himself.

Raymond didn't envy him for it, though. He never did, and he never would.

He had long gotten used to keeping a level head under high pressure, but he never exactly imagined he'd have to do so literally. He wouldn't allow himself to break eye contact with Fortis, not even with that blade against his skin.

"Sure I do."

Answering in the positive was a gamble, but no greater gamble than answering in the negative. In a situation like this, dealing with a man like this, just about any move was a gamble. The only way to predict Fortis with any accuracy was to account for his unpredictability.

For his part, Fortis only grinned, that lazy yet sharp-edged grin that only he could pull off, with a slight twitch at the corner of his lips that made it even more unreadable than usual. He drew the razor away, just long enough for Ray to drop his guard — just far enough for Fortis to flick it back at his face without any warning, catching the cheekbone just below his left eye.

Ray might have shouted, cursed, or done anything else if he didn't know any better, or if Fortis hadn't been so quick to shove him even harder against the wall with the press of his body and a rough hand in his hair. He tossed the razor aside, the razor that had likely cost him quite a bit of time, in favor of sliding his hand over Raymond's face, thumb rubbing over the cut until it was smeared with blood.

"Big mistake."

There was no predicting or outfoxing a man who lived only in bluffs, much less one who was so set on becoming the character he had built around himself. Maybe there was no character — maybe the bullshit wasn't there, and that was really him, had always been him through and through — but that simple fact was the same regardless. All there was for Raymond to do was to survive.


End file.
